


Zugzwang

by 0P3RaGh05T



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Multiple Inspirations, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, multiple media references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 20:51:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14293191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0P3RaGh05T/pseuds/0P3RaGh05T
Summary: Zugzwang.It's a chess term for when one player traps the other in a situation where no matter what move they make will cost them the game.In such a situation, the zugzwanged player has two options.One: Play to the draw.Or,Two: Change the game.This is the story of Malcolm Kort. His history is a total mystery. His future is as well. He's after one thing, and one thing only: reclaiming that which was taken from him.Updates will be sporadic. Consider yourself warned.





	1. Prologue: Only the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is. My Original Work. Damn, it's about time I posted something concerning it.
> 
> Again, updates for this story will be sporadic.
> 
> I'll be adding the track list I listen to when typing it later. I need to finish locating them all. Most are on iTunes, or Google Play Music.

Prologue: Only the Beginning

5 Nov 2099.

“My fellow Americans,” The President began. “I stand before you today, in light of this great tragedy, to inform you that as of just five hours ago, our military will mobilize to counteract the threats leveled against us. We shall not permit these terrorists to continue as they please, endangering the lives of innocent people. The simultaneous attacks on New York City, Los Angeles, Houston, New Orleans, Chicago, Seattle, and Atlanta were indeed frightening. However, if we permit ourselves to give into fear then they will have won. We must stand tall, stand united. We must prove to them they will not force us into submission, that we will not surrender. Right here and now, I call on every single man or woman of sound mind and able body to arms against those who would threaten our loved ones, our home, our way of life. This is our time to show them just how far we’ll go to defend that which we hold dear. To those of you watching this, who will answer the call, let’s give them hell.”

Turning off the television, the Secretary of Defense said, “He’s a goddamn moron.” Shifting his gaze to his fellow cabinet members, he stated, “As all of you are no doubt aware, the attacks he referenced were committed by homegrown insurgents. However, neither the media nor the general populace knows this information. As a result, the President’s little speech has led to the largest mobilization of the United States Armed Forces in history. To make matters far worse, our allies overseas have also seen this broadcast. They’ve begun to mobilize as well.” Sighing, he concluded, “We’re on the precipice of another World War.”

“What would you suggest we do?” the Secretary of Homeland Security inquired. “The President has already begun preparing for war. The people have answered his call with vigorous enthusiasm. Anything we do will only bring suspicion of a conspiracy against him. I, for one, have no desire to jeopardize my position when, down the line, there’s a possibility of rectifying this peacefully.”

“I concur with her.” the Secretary of State admitted. “While I can assure you that my personal feelings about this are aligned with yours, it would be foolish to attempt anything which could place any of us in danger of losing our positions. That isn’t to say I’m in full agreement though. Something must be done about this, if covertly. I don’t see why it wouldn’t be a good idea to setup contingencies in the event things go sideways. Our predecessors participated in a few conspiracies. Why shouldn’t we if the intentions are noble?”

“The highway to Hell is paved with good intentions.” the Attorney General stated. “However, all of you are correct. We need to do something. As the highest legal authority, I’m open to any suggestions you may have. So long as they’re within the law, I’ll permit them.”

There was a long moment of silence. No one spoke a single word, each contemplating what to say. Finally, it was the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency which proposed the first concept.

“I’d like to posit a black-budget project which was submitted to me a few years ago.” the CIA Director informed. “It was given to me by one of our analysts. After reading it thoroughly, including the fine-print, I must admit it’s impressive. Well-thought-out as well.”

“The floor’s yours.” the Attorney General announced. “Please. Tell us about it. Spare no details. The more we know, the better our assessment of it.”

Standing and straightening his suit, the CIA Director stated, “Consider this: an elite, specially trained clandestine asset. Now, although that seems relatively plain, even normal, there’s more to it. Much, much more. I’m talking extensively trained in assassination, in- and exfiltration, counterintelligence, psychological warfare, and the other similar ‘activities’. They’ll be free to go wherever needed whenever.”

The Director of National Intelligence interjected. “What you’re describing is a potential threat to national security. What would happen if this asset is captured? Also, under who’s purview would they fall?”

“There is no reward without some risk involved.” the CIA Director replied. “As for who’s purview they’d fall under, the answer is rather simple. They wouldn’t answer to anyone. The asset would be a completely free agent. Having him under any of our authorities would inevitably result in them going rogue. So, why shouldn’t we simply eliminate everything in-between. Besides, giving them free reign of their own actions eliminates the chances of tracing all this back to us.”

“A true wild card.” the Attorney General surmised. “I myself see no problem. Legally speaking anyways. If the rest of you agree with this proposition, I would suggest we begin at the earliest possible convenience.”

It appeared everyone did indeed agree with the CIA Director’s plan. Each voted in affirmation, one after another. With business concluded, they called the summit adjourned and went their separate ways. The CIA Director immediately contacted the analyst responsible for giving him the concept. Ordering them to compile a list of viable candidates, he instructed to ensure each met the prerequisite criteria decided upon earlier.

Over the next few days, the list of candidates slowly dwindled to a single name. After the initial interview, the CIA Director called for another summit to debate whether the chosen candidate was acceptable or not. Nearly two hours later, the verdict was determined, and unanimous.

They were.

It was decided that each would have some form of involvement with the candidate, now known only as Zero, and his training. Once Zero’s training was complete, they allowed him to choose a new name for himself. Requesting a week to make his decision, Zero spent it carefully considering what name he take. At the week’s end, Zero had decided. However, rather than inform them of what it was, he simply vanished without a trace. While this alarmed some of the conspirators, most understood what it meant. Collectively, they prayed there would never come a time when he would need to be activated.

Sadly, their prayers went unanswered. For mere months later, World War III erupted, sending the globe into chaos. By the time ‘Zero’ was activated to assassinate the US President, the war had reached the point of no return. Their asset was now a fugitive on the run from the very people they had trained him to protect. He had left a calling card behind though. It had only two words: Malcolm Kort.


	2. Chapter One: Enter Malcolm Kort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm Kort, a true enigma.
> 
> Ethan Stone, his successor (in a sense).
> 
> Kyle and Hana, to be revealed later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting Chapter Two this will shift into PoV style writing.
> 
> This is just the setup.

Chapter One: Enter Malcolm Kort

December 2nd, 2105

Opening his eyes, Malcolm Kort stared at the ceiling of his current safehouse. Only a short while ago, he would’ve sworn nothing in his life could go wrong. Then, at the behest of his so-called superiors, he assassinated the US President in an attempt to end the war. Except, the war had continued, and he was now considered a fugitive. It didn’t really bother him though. He had spent most of his life on the run from one thing or another. This time, the game was much more dangerous, but that was all part of the fun. 

A knock on his door drew Malcolm’s attention. Rising from the bed, he slowly and inaudibly crept towards it, gun drawn. “Who is it?”

“Dude! Open the fucking door! You already know who it is, man!”

Stowing his gun away, Malcolm opened the door to reveal Luther, a young African teen who was his eyes and ears on the streets. “You’re early.”

“Fashionably, dog. Fashionably.” Luther said, a wide grin on his face as he stepped inside. “No. Seriously though. We have got to talk about this whole setup. I mean, don’t get me wrong, but I’m getting severely paranoid. I’m looking over my shoulder now than when I was running drugs.”

Rolling his eyes, Malcolm retorted, “Luther, the only drugs you ran were the medications from the pharmacy to your mother. Don’t talk like you’re some former drug runner.” Walking to the kitchenette, Malcolm grabbed two bottles of water. Tossing one to Luther, he added, “Besides, you signed up for this, knowing full well what was at stake.”

“Would you please stop blowing my street cred?” Luther asked, exasperated. “I got a reputation. Every time I come here, you make me feel like a worthless twat.” Taking a big gulp of water, Luther wiped the excess water off with his sleeve. “Anyway, I finally got word back from my boys. One of them said, and I quote, ‘Tell him he needs to get his ass out of here. They know.’.”

“Only took them three years.” Malcolm replied as he made his way to the bedroom. “Here.” He tossed a wad of bills at the teen. “That’s everything I owe you, plus some extra.”

Flipping through it all, Luther’s eyes widened. “This…this is at least 10Gs. Who the fuck are you?”

“No one special.” Malcolm replied. Quickly getting dressed, he threw everything else into his rucksack. Donning it, he tousled Luther’s hair. “Don’t get yourself killed now. You hear me? I’ll be back to check on you some time in the future.”

Luther watched as his former employer leapt from the window down onto the street below. Once the guy was out of sight, Luther let out a sigh. Looking at the cash he had gotten, Luther said, “Better get this to Mum then start heading to work.”

Meanwhile, Malcolm slowly maneuvered through the massive throng of people on the streets. For the past five or so years, he had evaded capture by the CIA following his act of treason. The first year had seen him transverse the UK and Europe. The second, the Middle East. He had stayed in Africa for the last three, but never in the same place for any significant length of time. At least, until reaching this village.

When Malcolm had first arrived, no one had wanted anything to do with him. They all saw him as an outsider, not worth their salt. However, that soon changed when he saved the village elder from what they thought was a terminal illness. After that, he was a treasured member of their community. Having to leave brought him a great deal of sadness, but to stay would be more devastating in the long run. Not wanting to make a fuss, Malcolm didn’t bother informing anyone of his departure.

Of course, that didn’t mean no one else was paying attention.

Trailing behind Malcolm, a short distance away, Ethan Stone, a CIA operative skilled in extraction, was making his way through the sea of people towards his target. Ethan kept his eyes locked onto Malcolm, trying to anticipate his next move. Stone had heard about Malcolm long before being assigned to capture him. He considered Kort something of a kindred spirit. Although neither of them had ever crossed paths before now, they were of the same ilk. The difference being the level of autonomy each possessed.

Suddenly, Ethan lost sight of Malcolm, forcing the prior to stop. Scanning the area, Ethan couldn’t relocate him. Turning, Stone found himself face-to-face with his target.

“They sent a single recovery agent after me this time? Either you’re very good, or they’re losing their minds.” Malcolm stated. “I’m going to go with the former. You look rather well trained.”

“Second Generation.” Ethan replied. “I’m you, just more.” He watched Malcolm scrutinize him and wondered what his predecessor thought of that.

“Here I though that second generation meant improvements.” Malcolm muttered. “Apparently, I was mistaken.”

Ethan wanted to be indignant, but he couldn’t exactly say Kort was erroneous in his observation. Despite being second generation, it was clear Kort was still far superior in every possible way. Not to mention, he was far more experienced. Plus, there was the matter of his history from before becoming a fugitive being totally blank. The man directly in front of him was truly an enigma.

“3…2…1…” Kort counted down. At the exact moment he finished, an explosion occurred. Debris flew in every direction, and the dust blinded all the pedestrians in the area. In the commotion, Kort slipped away.

Coughing, Ethan Stone frantically scanned the scene for any sign of Kort. Finding nothing, he cursed under his breath. Knowing that if he stayed behind it would draw much unwanted attention, Ethan quickly departed. Making his way back towards his vehicle, he stopped upon seeing it in pieces. Glancing at a group of nearby civilians, Ethan asked, “Can someone tell me what happened to my jeep? Please?” Instead of getting an answer, he watched them walk away.

Meanwhile, Malcolm Kort had boarded a boat to Cairo, Egypt. The discovery his former employers had gone ahead with the idea of a second generation was a great annoyance to him. Doubting there was only one, Malcolm decided it was time to go home. Extracting a satellite phone from his pack, Malcolm dialed a number he hadn’t called in ages. “Hey. It’s Kort. I’m on my way back to the States. Nope. This time, it’s personal.”

** New York City, New York, USA **

Kyle Thatcher hung up his phone as the call disconnected. Over the last five years, Kyle had wondered whether Malcolm was alive or not. Now, he had his answer. A sleeper agent for the Insurrection, Kyle had infiltrated the newly formed Joint Intelligence Service, the successor to the CIA and NSA. It was his job to locate key intel which they could use to topple the tyrannical dictatorship the United States had fallen into since the President’s death.

Malcolm had even trained Kyle prior to his original departure five years ago. No one in the Insurrection cared about the fact Malcolm was the one who assassinated the President. In truth, knowing he was responsible made him infamous within their ranks. They saw him as a shining beacon of hope. Malcolm had chosen to train Kyle himself. At least, that’s what Kyle was told back then.

Out of everyone in the Insurrection, only Kyle knew the truth about Malcolm’s past. He knew Malcolm’s secrets merely because they trusted each other explicitly. So, knowing Malcolm was returning to the States for personal business, Kyle couldn’t help wondering what exactly had happened overseas over the last few years.

“Sir?” Kyle called out to his boss. “Could I possibly take my leave? I’ve finished everything for today. Tomorrow, too.”

“Yeah. Go ahead. Just make sure you sign out of the system. We’ll be undergoing a massive upgrade starting at 8 AM.”

“Thank you, sir.” Enabling the remote access, Kyle logged out of the system via his terminal, but remained logged on via his mobile phone. He kept his tower on, but he shut down his monitor to give the appearance everything was off. Rising from his chair, Kyle slowly packed his things away for the day before leaving.

Stepping onto the streets of New York City, Kyle glanced in every direction, spying quite a few other members of the Insurrection. One in particular caught his eye, and he gestured for her to follow him. Meeting at the tiny corner coffee shoppe down the street, he said, “Malcolm is coming home.”

“Really?” Hana asked, surprised. “Any reason why now of all times?” Seeing him shake his head, Hana mumbled, “Something must have happened. Or, he came across something that prompted his return. After all, Malcolm isn’t someone who’d just up and change their plans spontaneously.”

“I don’t know when he’ll arrive, or how, but I wouldn’t be too surprised if he makes for New Orleans first.” Kyle thanked the waitress who brought them bottles of water. “He’s got a plan. We just don’t know what it is yet.”

“I doubt we’ll ever be told what his plans are.” Hana retorted. “He plays it as close to the vest as any properly paranoid veteran. You can rest assured though he won’t simply come directly here.”

“How are things progressing on your end? I’ve caught wind there were a few discrepancies from the intel I sent you.” Kyle studied her expression as he spoke.

Frowning deeply, Hana replied, “Yes, there were a few. Nothing major though. We still succeeded in our mission. However, we did lose a couple of good men and women.”

“I’m sorry. I understand what you’re going through. It wasn’t that long ago I was in your position.” Kyle had previously operated as a field agent. Nowadays, he preferred being behind a desk.

Sighing, Hana rubbed her eyes. “Contact me when Malcolm enters the States. I want to be ready for his arrival.”

“What if he doesn’t want you to know? Have you considered that?” Kyle wasn’t trying to be mean, but the question begged to be asked.

Hana flinched as if struck. “Tell me anyway. It’s about time we buried the hatchet. I still need to apologize as well. Even if he doesn’t want to hear it, I do.”

Parting ways, Kyle went to his apartment. Upon entering, he noticed that there was something off about it. Rounding the corner to his living room, Kyle found himself staring at Jarod Stanton. “What the hell do you want?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy.” Jarod stood and walked over to Kyle. “I’m here because you and I both know you’re a member of the Insurrection. I don’t have any concrete evidence yet, but when I do, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your miserable life in prison.”

“One: you’re guilty of breaking and entering. Two: you’re trespassing on privately own property. Three: I’m well within my rights to shoot you right here and now.” Kyle took a step forward as he spoke, getting right in Jarod’s face. “So, I suggest you leave before I do just that.”

“You’ve got some balls on you. I’ll give you that, boy.” Jarod groused. “You be ready. When I get the evidence I need, I’ll be back for your ass.”

Once Jarod slammed the door shut behind him as he left, Kyle spun and fired his quickdraw firearm through the door. A scream of agony rang out. “Consider that a warning, Jarod. Next time, I’ll shoot to kill.”

Laying on his bed hours later, Kyle stared at the ceiling. His mind raced as thoughts and memories of his time with Malcolm surged forth. Kyle felt his cock twitch at a rather arousing memory. Since he usually slept nude, Kyle didn’t have to fight with any clothing as he reached down to stroke his growing erection.

Recalling how on his 18th birthday Malcolm had paid for an entire day at brothel for him, Kyle couldn’t help himself indulge in a bit of fantasy. Malcolm hadn’t gone with him at the time, but Kyle understood why. Still, knowing that Malcolm had paid in full for an all-day orgy for him was one hell of a birthday gift.

Kyle didn’t keep track of how many times he came from the memories. However, as he stood in the shower stall of his bathroom, he pondered whether it was time to tell Malcolm of his attraction to him. Kyle doubted it would ever go anywhere, but even so.

That godawful ringtone he had permanently assigned to tell him Hana was calling echoed throughout Kyle’s apartment. Picking up, Kyle answered, “What now, Hana? I haven’t gotten any word yet.”

“We’ve got bigger fish to fry, Kyle. A team was just taken out by a pair of second generation assets.” Hana’s voice was a whisper, which meant she didn’t think she was alone.

“Get out of wherever you are and get here fast.” Kyle instructed. “Don’t stop until you get to my place. Do you understand?” Hanging up, he thought, _“Malcolm, you had better hurry your ass home. We need you. Now more than ever.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want your theories on anything about this story. They can be about the characters, the setting, where this is going, anything. I want to see how many can get as close to the real thing as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> List of Inspirations:  
> Bourne  
> Taken  
> Hitman: Agent 47  
> XIII  
> Human Target  
> Transporter  
> John Wick  
> Jack Reacher  
> Jack Ryan
> 
> AND, the Most Important: My late grandfather. May his soul forever rest in peace.


End file.
